Aren't you getting drowsy?
From that rubber feeling being smudged inside
With the white lies, you're trying to hide
And answers that you cannot find
You feed them hope, you feed them glory
You feed them joy, even their exigency
You give your lasts and your entirety
Did they do the same?
Of course, they detect
That you're holding unto a Placebo Effect
Knows you're stoic and benevolent
So they keep sending amenable threats
Someday, it will trigger you
Your aspired esteem and prisoned wounds
Where you realize you need to fulfill "you",
Erase the 'shoulds' and do 'coulds'
It's not your fault being so tolerant
It's meant to happen though it's not meant to stay
It's not your duty to be the second hand
Just to be used and strayed
Recognize your worth
You must know when to leave the table
When you feel like being disabled,
Guard your heart and guard your castle
Because prevention is better than cure
It's okay to be kind but too much is nearly a definition of abuse. Stop feeding others for their satisfactory and start focusing on your betterment. Have you encountered a bond with someone with a great connection then it suddenly disconnects? Do you think it's worth another try?
What is and somehow is there again
For the arms that gripped tight at the waist
Now seem to give way
To embrace this a new cold a formless shape
If life is the sum whole of one’s fleet joy
Somehow the light of life has never shone upon me
This toil upon which vanity stole
Never again do I find such feelings arise
The death of all hope
The dreams that snuffed out
For long past memories seem to fill with hope
A promise of a chance for joy to resound again
A way to break this hold
And yet again I find myself alone as I am
In the greater distant as I choke
For in way it was never just what lies in between
What separates the two from them and me
An endless divide for that which can never be crossed
Wanting to reach out yet the connection is invariably lost
The pain is not of the coming silence it brings
But to watch the days role by falling to their waste
Pining for what one can assume will never be
In the greater distant brought again to my knees
We vow on different creeds
Though we fulfill the same needs
We trot in different colours
When all we want is throw away all covers
You vie to be free
But all I want is you inside me
This was supposed to be for J.
Humanity is at the ****** of connection
Connection is plastered to our bones
It’s on our wrists dinging reminding us to take our steps that will apparently make us one with nature, it’s latched to our arms so while we are so spent attaching ourselves to nature that we don’t have to attach our phones to our hands, it’s our sun rise, it’s our evening prayer, heck it’s the only thing reminding us to wake up in the morning and connect with these people that we can only reach through these dull technological connections. Facebook says we’re here to help you connect! The Bible app dings remindign you, “keep in check!” You’re surrounded by connection, it immerses you and embraces you with its WiFi streamed arms and blue tinted light
But shouldn’t you be embracing the connection? Shouldn’t you be the one to swallow connection? Shouldn’t you be the one to amplify connection?
Humanity is at the ****** of connection but we are disconnected.. Shouldn’t the rate of depression fall not rise with every purchase of an iPhone. We are disconnected
From ourselves from nature from the spiritual realm and from each other because we connect our souls to these arguable objects of connection. Seems like we need an intervention from connection. Shouldn’t connection flow within our bones and not simply be plastered to it? Connection is around us, but we’re not making the connection
In the cascade of my feelings,
a steep precipice separated the ways
disconnecting every bit from you
left me waiting on the long days
The difference between Monday and Sunday;
A vague salt upon the upper lip of some life apart,
Pages incarnate in an acrid stomach guilt,
And some bread and wine selling out
Before I make it to the queue.
Between the rest, perhaps a better hour;
A few words absorbed, wrapped in cling film
Like the ham and pickle I take on the train,
On the bread leftover from the priest on Sunday. Slightly stale.
For the most part, I try to keep on my shoes
And off the grass. The cling film makes it
Exceedingly difficult to know -
And I can never quite discern
The start of the horizon.
And the irony of it is, I can’t cling to much
Myself. City smog is honeysuckle riding
A summer’s breeze; Singapore slings,
Coffees and teas, and daydreams of you
Are more real than me.
It’s like looking through a car window,
Seeing outside rush away behind you
Before you can think about how beautiful it is.
Like having tired of a masterpiece from which
You expected timelessness.
One which was difficult to find words for